Apparition
by The Shadows of My Mind
Summary: blackfridayismyhero requested: Angst/Romance with Erik from Phantom of the Opera, with Christine, if that's okay. Each night her voice would echo through the halls of the opera, seeping into each crack and filling the building with the sweet sound. He would lay there and imagine the possibilities that were in store for him and his voice, his Christine.


Each night her voice would echo through the halls of the opera, seeping into each crack and filling the building with the sweet sound. It would make its way down into the tunnels below the stage and the rafters above, drifting down until they reached the cavern tucked away and secluded. He would lay awake to listen long after the music had stopped and the audience had left, basking in the results of many lessons. Even after the voice herself had left would he lay there, lost in the endless possibilities that were in store for him and his voice, his wonderful Christine.

After she had gone, after he had let that _damnable fool_ take her away, the opera was silent. Rehearsals still ran, operas were still performed and parties were still held, but there was no longer any music. Not for him.

He would lay awake for days on end, willing himself to hear her voice again. Willing himself to pretend she was still there. It had been easier when she was near, when there was still the chance that she would return to him. The last he had heard she'd moved to England with her precious Vicomte, and the two had started a family.

It should have been him, he couldn't help but think. It should have been him with Christine at his side, perhaps even with the child. But she was in England, and no matter how long he lay there, silently wrestling with his own mind, he could not bring himself to leave his home. Even if it meant he never saw his Christine again, he would not leave and open himself to the torment of the world above.

He would sit at his organ and stare at the keys, the music which had once flowed freely from his finger tips now stuck echoing around his mind. Taunting him. Telling him it will never be the same. He'd very nearly broken the instrument in a rage when a melody that had been plaguing him for days refused to come out, refused to be put onto paper without her voice to guide it. He'd collapsed to his knees, head cradled between his hands and tears forcing their way down his cheeks. He'd remained like that for God knows how long, sobbing and rocking himself back and forth.

" _Angel..._ " A voice drifted through the darkness, causing a shiver to race down his spine. He lifted his head, eyes wide and frantic as he searched. She was here, she'd returned.

"Christine." He pushed himself to his feet, fumbling for his mask and quickly pulling it on. It sat crookedly, but he didn't fix it. She knew, she'd already seen the deformity it hid.

She stood near the organ, smiling warmly at him and holding out an inviting hand. He stared at her, chest heaving as he took one step, then another before he collapsed once more at he.r feet.

"Christine...Oh Christine..." He breathed, staring at the stone floor for a moment before looking up. The words he'd been about to speak died in his mouth, instead coming out as a choked whine. Where she had stood was simply air. She was gone once more.

He didn't move for days after the apparitions first appearance, refusing to eat or sleep, simply staring at the spot she had stood. Finally he managed to stand, joints protesting each small movement he made. He reclaimed his seat at the organ, staring down at the keys before slamming a fist onto them and allowing himself several minutes to bawl. To curse Christine and her Vicomte, to curse to lord for forcing him to live with the poison that forbade him from ever living a normal life.

He remained there for only a short while before he stood once more, straightening his mask so that it sat properly and picking up his cloak. He stared out over the surface of the lake, steps heavy and reluctant as he made his way into the boat. Each stroke of the oar seemed to echo impossibly loud around the tunnels, each little splash tearing at his fragile sense of reality.

He could have sworn he saw her as he entered the theater. In a dressing room or the rafters, dancing across the stage or humming to herself by a candelabra. He tried to ignore each image, but found himself staring longingly for a moment before forcing himself on. He settled into the shadows of the rafters, watching the opera's newest shining star rehears. She was a large woman with the face of a cherub. He wrinkled his nose in distaste, the woman reminding him far too much of Carlotta despite her voice being much more tolerable. He turned his attention to the chorus, watching each of the dancers stretch or practice. They were talented, but none were his Christine. None would ever be like his Christine.

He turned to leave, making his way quickly back to his home, unaware of the carriage that had pulled up outside of the Opera. He returned once more to his organ, staring at the score paper and the keys before him. There were whispers of a melody teasing him, but they would not come forward no matter how hard he tried.

She appeared again, standing over his shoulder and watching. Silently watching. He turned to her but did not reach out, did not dare to blink for risk of her disappearing again. She turned and offered a faint smile, lifting a delicate hand to brush his cheek. He felt her warmth despite knowing she was not there, allowing his eyes to slip closed for only a moment. She vanished as soon as she appeared, leaving behind only a whispered.

" _You poor creature..._ "

He did not abandon the organ this time, playing through the tears and the pain burning in his chest. He tore page after page of music, balling them up and throwing them away. He cried out in rage, swiping both completed and half finished works off and throwing himself to the ground. He lay there, trembling madly when he heard a soft tune, sweeping through the building and finding its way into his home.

He straightened up, staring across the lake in silence. Her voice echoed around him, pulling him in each direction and eventually guiding him back to the boat. The strokes were quick now, almost frantic as he made his way back into the building, back into the rafters where he watched in silence as a small family made their way to the stage. A little boy leading, running about and exploring. A middle-aged man with a thick beard, a cane supporting his weight. And a woman.

His Christine


End file.
